Gild (The Plated Prisoner Series Book 1), Raven Kennedy [good books to read TXT] 📗

we can, knowing that our time is running out. We tie two sheets around the captain’s neck like a noose, leaving ourselves plenty of length to use as a rope.

I secure my sheet and then rush to the window and unclasp it, thanking all the Divines above that both of them open easily. With them now open, it lets in a blast of cold wind, soft snow flurries peppering across the floor.

I feel Rissa’s attention on me, casting clandestine looks. I know she’s brimming with questions, but I can’t afford to have her voice them, and we don’t have the time anyway.

I check to make sure the sheets are secure once more, and we circle around the captain until the window is at our backs. “So...the plan is to just pull like hell and hope we tip the bastard over?” she asks, doubtful.

“Pretty much.”

She shakes her head before rubbing her hands together. The two of us both grip our sheets, wrapping them around our hands.

“On three,” I tell her. “One, two, three!”

Together, we pull with all our might. Hands fisted, arms bunched, back straining, legs planted, we pull. Rissa grunts as she yanks, but it doesn’t move. Not even a bit.

We both let go of our sheets at the same time, panting and cursing.

“Shit,” I mutter as panic begins to bubble up in me. I can’t leave him here like this. I can’t. It’s not an option.

“Shit, shit, shit…” Full of frustration, I kick the captain hard in the shin. Not the best thing to do, considering he’s solid gold. I curse again at the pain that shoots through my toes.

Rissa cocks a blonde brow at me. “Maybe don’t kick the solid gold man statue, okay?”

“It was kind of worth it,” I grumble.

She cocks her head, considering. Then she turns and brings the meat of her fist down onto the captain’s dick with an impressive hit. It would’ve definitely hurt if he were still made of flesh. And alive.

“Ow,” she says, frowning at the unmoving gold phallus. She rubs her sore hand and looks at me. “Hmm. You’re right. That was worth it.”

“Yeah,” I sigh.

Both Rissa and I look around, puzzling over what to do. The window looks so close and yet so damn far. My eyes catch on a pair of hooks bolted to the wall beside the windows, where one of the captain’s swords is being displayed. My mind spins and clicks.

I rush forward, snatching the sword off the wall and tossing it onto the bed. Then I’m taking the length of sheets and wrapping it around the hooks, tugging to test how secure it is.

“What are you doing?” Rissa asks.

I lift my whole body off the floor by hanging from the sheet, and the hooks don’t budge. That’s a good sign. I just hope this works.

“Grab the captain’s chair and put it behind him. This hook will act like a pulley,” I say, showing her the sheet in my hands that goes from his neck, to the hook to me. “I’ll pull as hard as I can to tip him from the front, while you stand and push at his head from the back. Hopefully it’ll be enough to topple him, and then gravity can do the rest.”

She nods and hurries around the desk to grab his chair. Once she has it next to the captain, she stands on top of the seat, giving herself the extra height.

I take my place at the wall and grip the sheet. Four of my ribbons—the only ones I’ve managed to unknot—come up, wrapping around the sheet as well, but they’re tired and aching. I don’t know how much strength they can lend me.

Rissa’s gaze flicks over them with both wariness and fascination.

“Ready?” I say, cutting off anything she might want to ask.

In reply, she braces her hands against the captain’s head and plants her feet, while my grip tightens on the sheet.

I count down. “One...two...three...”

She pushes. I pull. The floor creaks. The wind blows.

The statue doesn’t move an inch.

My entire body strains as I use every bit of strength and determination I’ve got. My sore side twinges in pain, but I ignore it. My poor ribbons feel as fragile as butterfly wings, and my spine is screaming, the muscles pulling.

“Come...on…”

I’m going to either black out or tip this bastard over. There’s no in-between. I hold my breath and just keep pulling, pulling, refusing to stop, refusing to fail.

This has to work. It has to.

I hear Rissa make a frustrated noise as she heaves, and sweat breaks out over my body. Dizziness swoops over me, like a bird circling my head.

We’re giving this every bit of strength we have. And if we stop, we won’t be able to start again. This is it. I know it, she knows it, even the frigid wind knows it.

But the captain doesn’t tip.

Tears flood my eyes, and my stomach drops. We can’t do it. I can’t do it.

The impulsive decision I made to kill the bastard probably forfeited my own life as well.

The realization cripples me. That this is all for nothing, that there’s no way I can do this. The utter failure of it all makes dread slump my shoulders. It pushes me down, hunches me over, bowing me with the weight of what’s to come.

With a growl of resistance, my teeth clench so hard together I’m worried I might actually break them. My entire body shakes, my head swims with black dots, but I keep pulling. All I get in return is the sound of the sheet ripping, the floorboards creaking in threat.

A sob escapes my throat. Rissa makes a strangled, painful grunt. The last of my hope starts to slip out of my grasp as the sheet continues to tear.

But then, like some sort of divine miracle, my ribbons start to glow.

It’s dim, like the softest beam of light below a pond of water, but it’s there. It’s the same glow of silken warmth that woke me up in the carriage after